


trying everything (to keep you looking at me)

by eraseallpicturesofron



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Can't Cook, Alec Lightwood Loves Magnus Bane, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, cooking as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraseallpicturesofron/pseuds/eraseallpicturesofron
Summary: Every Sunday night, without fail, Alec makes dinner for Magnus.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 18
Kudos: 82





	trying everything (to keep you looking at me)

**Author's Note:**

> anyway i have like 5 WIPs and somehow this was the one that i finished? ok!
> 
> title is from mirrorball by taylor swift (stream folklore, babes)

Magic has graced Magnus with the luxury of hardly having to settle for anything less than ideal.

A new shirt fitted a bit too small, a fresh meal cooked a bit too much, with the snap of his fingers and a short spark of blue, he has the ability to modify the world to his wishes, calling no attention to himself at all. 

The meal before him is far from ideal.

The steak on his plate– a barrel cut filet mignon bought fresh from the butcher down the street that afternoon– is overcooked and underseasoned. 

No juices spill onto the plate when he digs his fork and knife into the tough meat, that’s far more brown than red once he cuts through it. With the exception of the smattering of salt and pepper, proof that following the recipe by the word rather than embracing the art of cooking was never advisory in the kitchen, the flavor was, as an understatement, minimal. 

The asparagus on the side is cooked inconsistently. The top half, presented on the dish with intentional plating, was blessed by the gift of perfect cooking. Speckles of brown on top of the vegetables from their time on the stove top came into contrast with the blackended bottoms. 

_Overcooked_ would be polite, if they had been resting on the stove top for seconds too long, but these ones must have been ignored for minutes, and the better word choice would have been _burnt_. 

With the snap of a finger, a modicum of magic that he wouldn’t have missed, Magnus could have replaced the plate with a luxury meal, if that were ideal. 

Alec watches him from across the kitchen island, white bread and cold cuts making up the sandwich he had thrown together for himself. He had put everything into making a meal for Magnus that night. 

If he’s trying not to appear anxious, he’s failing.

He still tries.

He tries. 

He struggles and he fails and it is an endless cycle at times, and even on those days where he doesn’t think that he has anything left in him and he will never be enough for anyone or anything, he still gets up and he tries. If Magnus could only choose one of the countless reasons that he is utterly infatuated by this man, that would be the one.

He tries to make Magnus a romantic meal, every Sunday dinner, without fail.

He tries on nights like these, when he had the day off of work and spent the whole day focused on finding the perfect recipe, the perfect protein, perfect produce. By the time Magnus came home, Alec sat proud before the plate on the table, the recipe crumpled and discarded by the kitchen sink and the record player still playing Billie Holiday. 

But he also tries on nights that aren’t as good, when he came home from work and dropped his briefcase as though it was the heaviest thing he had ever carried. He closed his eyes, for a minute, tossed his head back and signed, for a long time. Nights where Magnus sat on the couch with his legs crossed and his focus on translating a spell or researching a potion, when he would sit up to go to Alec, who would shake his head, drop a kiss to his forehead, and whisper, “Stay there, babe. I’m making you dinner.”

He wasn’t made to be a chef; he was made for precision and accuracy and can’t just go on off on a creative whim when he has strict directions in his hands.

Dinner’s never awful, though. Not when he tries. 

Alec finally bites, leaning forward on his elbows as he asks, “How is it?” 

There’s a sparkle in his eyes that Magnus relishes in seeing, a spark of youth that he had feared died when Alec was too young to appreciate it, but here, the spark is alive and well. 

He drops his fork onto the island and matches Alec’s body language, leaning close enough to press a kiss to his lips. He doesn’t, though, and instead answers with a wide smile, “Your best one so far.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

Alec leans back into his seat and ducks his head, a futile attempt to hide the spread of pink across his cheeks and the stretch of his smile as Magnus swallows down another piece of asparagus. 

“Thanks,” he says, his voice going soft as he adds, “I tried.”

**Author's Note:**

> comment/kudos/bookmarks are incredible <333  
> lemme know if you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading!!


End file.
